Rising Sun
by Gaea Blackwell
Summary: Draco's struggle against the evils of his world and the bit of good within him. My one and only Draco-fic (trust me on this one ;) The Jars of Clay songfic series continues (honestly, I don't know why I keep getting ideas from these songs, but I do)! This


A/N: I think this has become a new series for me: Jars of Clay songfics! Yeah, another JoC song. This one's called Rose-Colored Stained Glass Windows, and it has an absolutely different meaning than I'm using for this fic, but I thought it just described Draco so well, I had to do it. He may seem a bit out of character, but then again, he is a pretty transparent one. This takes place before he goes to Hogwarts, when he's about ten or so. And heck no, I do _not_ like Draco. This is strictly a one time thing, I promise ;) And hey, thanks to everyone that's reviewing these – I know how annoying they can get ;) I just feel glad to be spreading these songs (they're my absolute favorite, can you tell?) Enjoy!

Rising Sun

Draco was awakened by the sound of feet clambering down the stone-floored hallway and the bangs of slamming doors.. It wasn't the most romantic of awakenings that he could imagine – nor was it late enough in the morning for his taste, so he found it perfectly acceptable to be angered by the disruption. Grumbling as he sat up in bed, he flattened his platinum blonde hair down with the palm of his hand and let out an almighty yawn, not bothering to cover it with his hand. He swung the thick covers of his bed to the side and dragged himself out, shivering as his feet came in contact with the freezing cold stone floor. He snatched his bathrobe off of the chair beside him and wrapped it around himself, tying the sash at the waist.

Swinging open the door, he came face to face with the family ghost, Damon. A pale thing with sunken eyes and even paler hair, he often reminded Draco of himself – but that was to be expected, as Draco was his direct descendant. He mumbled his greeting to Damon and brushed pas, padding down the slice of carpet that ran down the center of the hall. Damon said nothing, but watched Draco go, with one eyebrow raised and an amused expression on his face.

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another sleepy sunday, safe within the walls  
outside a dying world in desperation calls

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Lucius was in his study, the _Daily Prophet_ sprawled over his desk as he went over it with a fine-toothed comb. Draco poked his head just inside the door, but drew back as his father's gaze lifted from the paper.

"Draco? Is that you?" his father asked.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment as he leaned against the wall between the study and the hallway. He clenched his hands into fists and bit his lip. _Please don't let him be mad again…_

Steeling himself, Draco opened his eyes, forced a smile on his face, and strolled into the study. "Yes, Father?" He raised a crooked eyebrow in a half-amused, half-cynical expression. His father knew it well.

"Well, it's about time you're awake. Look at this paper." Lucius pointed at one of the papers on his desk. Even standing in the doorway, Draco could read the bold heading: "Death Eaters at Large." He nodded, not bothering to read any more.

Lucius regarded his son with a sour expression. "Fools, boy. All of them."

Draco nodded.

"Still worrying about Death Eaters…as if we would show ourselves _now._" There was a slight smirk on Lucius' face, but it was hardly visible in the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight of the study. As usual, the shades were drawn over the windows to keep out the sunlight. Draco's fingers itched to pull one – just one – shade up, but he knew the consequences. He wasn't about to do it. So he just nodded at his father's words.

"Bunch of blubbering idiots at the Ministry…don't know what they're doing, who to trust…what to believe in…" Lucius went on, but his tone varied between audible and inaudible volumes, and Draco didn't make a point to try to decipher his father's words. But Lucius wasn't paying attention to him, anyway.

As his father droned on, Draco cast a weary eye to the nearest window, where he could see the faintest bit of light peering between the shade and the edge of the window. It didn't add much light to the room, but it was enough to see that the window behind was stained glass. Rose-colored, to be exact. Almost like blood.

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but no one hears the cries, or knows what they're about  
the doors are locked within, or is it from, without

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There was an entire world outside of that window…one full of people that went about their daily lives with nothing greater to worry about, other than what to have for dinner. And then there were the people out there that were fighting for their lives every day, for other's lives. Sometimes those people didn't even get to sit down for dinner. Or maybe they were lucky to _get_ a dinner.

He sighed, letting his gaze rest on the strip of rose-colored light that came from the edge of the window in an almost ethereal glow, and tucked his hands into his pockets. There was more to the world than good or evil. There was life. There were things that his father had forgotten to mention to him in these early-morning discussions. _But what do they matter? As long as evil prevails, it is good._

A sickening little voice in the back of his mind started laughing. He tried to shush it, to keep it away. It had never worked before, why should it now? Failing, he narrowed his eyes as he focused on the rosy light, almost glaring at it in pure hatred. _Why do there always have to be things to remind me of what could have been?_

'Because you're evil,' the nasty little voice answered.

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But evil is good. Evil will win, because it never dies.

He stopped narrowing his eyes and let the muscles in his face relax, shoulders sagging. Clouds now overshadowed the sun, and the light had disappeared with them. 

'How do you know that?' he heard.

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Because I do. No one knows it but me, but I know, and that's good enough for me.

After all, did anyone really know why things were the way they were?

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looking through rose colored stained glass windows  
never allowing the world to come in  
seeing no evil and feeling no pain

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Lucius' voice was still droning on and on, but Draco heard less and less of it as his thoughts became more muddled. _I only know the things I do because I've been taught them. I don't know anything but what I've been taught. And Father's made sure that he's the only one to teach me – until I go to Hogwarts…_

Blinking, it was then he realized. In that fleeting moment, it was then that he saw the truth, echoing in his mind like a veela song, taunting him seductively and willing him to give in to his outrage at the pure betrayal. Biting hard on his lip and not daring to wince when he finally tasted blood, he kept his emotions in check and did nothing. His hands clenched into fists and his knuckles turned white, but he made no move.

But then, as quickly as the thought had hit him, it was gone. He blinked again, stunned into submission by the absence of the brilliant flash of light that had invaded his mind. He shook his head, trying to bring it back. _Don't leave me…Help me…help me fight this…!_

But it was gone.

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_making the light as it comes from within, so dim_

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Lucius had noticed Draco's movements, and stopped for a moment, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "Is there something wrong, son?"

Draco snapped his head up, mouth parted slightly in thought. "Er…no, sir…"

Lucius' eyes narrowed slightly, immediately detecting the lie that escaped Draco's lips. But Draco noticed this, and ducked his head again.

"I should go eat breakfast, Father."

Without waiting for a response, he hurried from the room as quickly as he could, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape. The light was still flickering in his mind like a melting candle, but it was fading ever faster. He kept trying to grasp it, but it always evaded, a flame dancing out of his reach.

Nearing the main staircase, he dropped his head into his hands and gripped at his blond hair, groaning aloud. "Help me!" he cried out softly. "Don't do this! Don't leave me!"

No one answered. The light had vanished. 

Damon stood at the head of the stairs, crooked eyebrow raised in his usual fashion. "Is there something wrong, young Malfoy?" he snickered.

Draco looked up quickly, releasing his hair and dropping his arms to his sides. "Leave me alone, Damon. You're not helping."

"It doesn't matter. No one can help you."

Draco's expression turned to one of quickly-intensifying anger. "Shut up! I will escape this! You hear me? I _will_!" And then, without thinking, Draco moved to take Damon by the shoulders, but his hands passed through Damon's body without making contact, instead causing Draco to recoil in fright, his hands feeling as though they had been plunged into ice-cold water.

Damon smirked at him. "No, you won't. You can think it all you want. But you never will."

"I don't care what you say. I don't care what anyone says. I'm going to be different."

Damon then walked right through Draco, causing him to shiver involuntarily and wrap his arms around himself. "You don't mean that. You only care about yourself, just like every other Malfoy. Everyone else could die, and all you would care about is yourself. It's the truth, you know it is."

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out on the doorstep lay the masses in decay  
ignore them long enough, maybe they'll go away

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Draco had no answer for him. He merely lifted his chin, set his lips in a firm line, and continued towards the staircase, descending them with his eyes fixed straight ahead. Damon had no control over his thoughts. He couldn't determine Draco's destiny. Only Draco could control that.

Or could he?

After all, his father seemed to be in control now. His father had always been in control – maybe he'd always be in control, whether he was alive or not. Maybe his father's own essence was embedded so deeply within his own son that Draco's only means of escape was certain death.

Draco shivered. _That's not true. That light is still there, I know it is. I'll find it again._ He sighed quietly as he came to the first floor of the mansion, glancing around apprehensively. A coat of arms hung right over the main entrance, directly across from the staircase. A green dragon, fire exploding from its mouth, silhouetted against a rose-colored setting sun. Or was it rising?

Gold thread edged the banner, sparkling in the rays of light that stretched their way through the hall. He squinted at it for a moment.

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Imagine that…we're immensely wealthy, but none of it is honest. Our souls are empty, aren't they? All we have are the material things…And then he saw a tiny prick of light shimmering in the farthest corner of his mind.

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_when you think you have so much, you have so much to lose  
you think you have no lack, but you're really destitute_

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Biting his lip, Draco lifted his gaze from the banner to the wall above, tilting his head slightly as he saw something that he had never noticed before.

There was a window over the banner, stained glass – the same color as that in his father's study. Only this glass was not blocked away by heavy shades. It was open to the sunlight pouring in, and it was not afraid to cast its tinted shadow over the flagstone floor. Draco crossed the corridor until he came to the patch of shadow, standing tentatively in the center of it, and looked down at his hands as they were tinted rose.

Almost blood-colored.

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looking through rose colored stained glass windows  
never allowing the world to come in  
seeing no evil and feeling no pain  
making the light as it comes from within, so dim

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He looked up at the coat of arms once more, narrowing his eyes slightly. The light was in his mind once more, now brighter than ever. But it no longer spoke of his past, of his present. It spoke of his impending future.

And it told him that the sun on the banner was rising.


End file.
